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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866223">Primordiality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroesthe/pseuds/necroesthe'>necroesthe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Primordiality [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pre-Slash, Slytherin Fred Weasley &amp; George Weasley, Twincest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroesthe/pseuds/necroesthe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being sorted into Slytherin was a great, big cosmic joke.</p>
<p>A bigger cosmic joke was how the Sorting Hat shouted “SLYTHERIN” before touching a single strand of his glorious red hair, while George was a hat stall.</p>
<p>A <i>hat stall.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Weasley/George Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Primordiality [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Primordiality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Being sorted into Slytherin was a great, big cosmic joke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bigger cosmic joke was how the Sorting Hat shouted “SLYTHERIN” before touching a single strand of his glorious red hair, while George was a hat stall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A </span>
  <em>
    <span>hat stall.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The initial pandemonium already passed; Percy had been successfully revived from his fainting spell by Bill the Head Boy, and the Gryffindor table ceased their rioting after earning house-wide detention for clocking a Slytherin prefect with a cauldron, but not before a Slytherin quill found itself embedded in the nostril of a Gryffindor prefect.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And eye for an eye, Fred supposed as the Slytherin table also fell victim to a house-wide detention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drummed his fingers against the tabletop — the click-clack of his nails soothing him and his galloping heart. Leg shaking beneath the table, Fred turned his eyes back to his twin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George’s face was pinched. His knuckles had gone white from gripping the seat of his stool, and his knees, hanging off the chair, were squeezed together. He was like a wound-up toy — ready to explode once the key stopped twisting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obviously, he was arguing with the sorting hat. It was basically sentient. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Percy had let it slip to Bill two Christmas breaks ago that Gryffindor wasn’t the hat’s first choice, or even the second. Fred and George, with their ears pressed against the door, gasped, then scrambled away when they heard footsteps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t been fast enough though. Bill grabbed them by the scruff of their neck and swore them to secrecy to keep the tradition of being terrified alive in Ginny and Ron. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it had been time for Fred and George to attend Hogwarts, they had told Ron and Ginny about the terrible mountain troll they would have to face, and rattled off death statistics from a section of a muggle newspaper they had nicked from Dad. Ickle Ronniekins bawled when Fred said that this might be their last meeting, and an equally tearful Ginny gave Fred and George matching bracelets that, according to her friend Luna, were embedded with protein and luck charms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, protein.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mum had shot them a dirty look as they twirled away, saving their cackles for the protection of a train compartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now though, George’s bracelet was barely peeking out of his robe, having slid down to the base of his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the green of the grass they had run in as children, of the little folding Christmas tree Dad had found at a “yard sale”, and the breakfast Ron had upchucked when George theorized that jam was mixed with spider eggs for consistency; it was the plants in the garden they helped nurture, the Common Welsh Green they had carved soap into to gift to Charlie, and the rough part of the sponge when manually scrubbing dishes as punishment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred’s own bracelet, a replica of George's burned against his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It burned with the hushed whispers, with the eyes drilling holes into him, and with the concerned gaze of the Head Boy. Dread crawled beneath his skin, searching for the right place to gnaw through his flesh and fester in his bones. Maybe it was already festering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred shook his leg harder. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap-tap-tap</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his heel underlied the frenzied beat of his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George would be Slytherin, no doubt. They were two yolks in an egg, a person divided into two. To call one an extension of the other would be a disgrace, for it implied adding to something already pre-existing. There was nothing to add, and nothing to pre-exist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Fred and George, George and Fred. Together in the womb, the crib, the bed; they were one, and would forever be so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“SLYTHERIN,” the Sorting Hat eventually cried. The Great Hall exploded once more. Percy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Fred would have made fun of Percy for fainting again, but the sight of George sauntering down to the Slytherin table demanded his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Missed me?” George asked, plopping down on his right side. A smug smile crossed his face. Fred stopped fidgeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sat close enough for their shoulders to press together, and their bracelets to brush. Fred linked their pinkies under the table and grinned. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dumbledore ended the ceremony with a great sneeze and food appeared on the table. Fred zeroed on the beef wellington while George loaded his plate with mashed potatoes. The peas looked good, and so did the chicken and everything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weasley, right?” The boy sitting in front of him asked. His tie was neat, and his robes held a sheen found only in high quality clothing. His dark hair was close cropped, and his equally dark eyes seemed to drill holes into them. His leg, however, shook under the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred took a sip from his goblet. The water settled in his stomach like lead. “George. You?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Graham Montague,” He twisted his wrist. “Next to me is Adrian Pucey, and besides him is Cassius Warrington.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Warrington gave a little wave. Pucey, in that moment of distraction, shovelled onions onto Warrington’s plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Warrington and Pucey both had dark hair, though Pucey’s was a lighter shade of brown. Warrington’s face was square-like, full of angles that would only grow sharper with age. Pucey lacked those edges, and compensated with sharp eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Montague speared a cherry tomato among what appeared to be lawn clippings and carrot shavings. The lack of dressing made Fred’s heart ache. “Are you left handed?” He gestured to the knife between Fred’s fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred squeezed George’s hand under the table. “On certain days of the week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Montague furrowed his brow. “Which one will you use to cast?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whichever one I feel like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pucey squawked when he caught Warrington discarding his carrots onto his plate and pummeled his shoulder. Warrington snickered, but refused to desist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you looking forward to any classes in particular?” Montague pressed. “I think Defense Against the Dark Arts will be interesting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pucey snorted. “The new professor is a muggleborn. I doubt he even knows where the end of his wand is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Montague cringed. He glanced at Pucey, then at the twins across, and filled his plate with more salad. Scooting away, he tapped the shoulder of the girl next to him and dived into conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Warrington slapped Pucey upside the head. “Keep it down,” He whispered furiously, shooting a furtive glance at Fred and George. “Even though the Weasleys are blood traitors, they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>pureblood.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Their father works in the study of muggle artifacts,” Pucey argued back. “They have no influence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re still Sacred 28,” Warrington hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bristling, Fred flicked his wrist and drenching the two in water. They sputtered, so George splashed pumpkin juice as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re both prats,” Fred said as he waved a butter knife. “Try anything else, and I’ll stick this where the sun doesn’t shine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George clicked the salad tongs menacingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scowling, Pucey and Warrington reached for the napkins. An upperclassman offered to </span>
  <em>
    <span>scourgify</span>
  </em>
  <span> their clothes, but was stopped by another upperclassman who invoked rank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They got themselves into it, they can get themselves out,” The prefect Selwyn declared, drowning her mash in ketchup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dinner continued. Montague continued to poke at his rabbit food while shooting nervous looks at the four while Pucey and Montague ceased their food subterfuge. No one talked, gagged by the chill and newfound animosity that settled over them all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the feast ended, they were led to the dungeon. Fred and George’s hands remained connected.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Salazar,” Selwyn barked to a stone wall. Fred wondered if she was bonkers — it was a </span><em><span>wall </span></em><span>after all</span> <span>—  when the stone parted. He gaped.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Second year students and above were let in first and ordered to go to their dorms. When only the first years remained, they were ushered inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The commons room was large, larger than anything in the Burrow. The ceiling lights doused everything in green. Snakes curled along the furniture and mahogany armrests twisted into beasts. An enormous serpent hung above the stone fireplace, harsh silver gleaming in response to flames. Its ruby eyes glimmered with vitriol, and the array of skulls along the mantle bored holes into them with their dark, empty sockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wicked,” Fred heard George breathe. He was quickly shushed by a prefect that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> Selwyn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Professor Snape will now speak,” Selwyn announced. “Be quiet and respectful. Avery and I will answer questions afterward.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snape stepped from the shadows, with black hair and black eyes and a black robe and black shoes. He was a skeleton with taut flesh stretched across thin bones, with sunken eyes that could almost be mistaken as empty sockets. With his sallow face, Fred wouldn’t be surprised if he was a reanimated corpse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are now in Slytherin,” Professor Snape drawled, filling their ears with tar. “But do not be fooled; there are no welcomes here. If any of you have eyes, then you are aware of the hostility towards our house. Nothing you do will change this prejudice. You are, however, to prevent it from exacerbating,” Snape swept his eyes over them. Fred straightened his back. “There are rules, of course, to follow. They are obvious, but past mishaps from the thickheaded deem it necessary for me to repeat them every year.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rule one: put forth a united front. Backlash from the other houses is inevitable. They will take advantage of any dissent they can sniff out. Do not give them that opportunity by showing weakness. You have none.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two: retaliate. Not reacting is a symptom of complacency. Harassment only worsens if untreated. I will be here for assistance, but do not expect me to mollycoddle you. Leave a message no one will forget.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three: do not get caught. You are cunning, you are sly, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>Slytherin. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I will discipline you myself if there are complaints from the staff. Greatness comes from this house, and I expect it from all of you,” He glowered. “Do not disappoint me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Snape left. His robes billowed gloriously behind him, and the sharp echoes of his footsteps sent chills running down Fred’s spine. Excitement bubbled in his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was basically approval to wreak havoc. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean you can wreak havoc —  “ Avery said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred’s eyes glazed over immediately. He entertained himself with George using their held hands; he would squeeze a rhythm, George would replicate it, and vice versa. The contact comforted him, providing much-needed security in foreign territory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the prefects finished, they were led to their dorms. Girls followed Selwyn while boys followed Avery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were five four-poster beds in the dorm room, with green sheets and green curtains that were lined with silver. A large green rug sat in the center, embroidered with snakes. Green, green, green. It was almost nauseating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred didn’t bother discussing who would get what bed. He dragged his trunk to the one closest to the door and threw himself onto the mattress. He closed his eyes and savored the caress of the silken sheets. He didn’t flinch when soft lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “I’m gonna shower first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t miss me too much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When George’s footsteps faded, Fred pulled himself up to lean against his headboard. He examined the other occupants in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Montague had selected the bed on the other side of the door, making him next to Fred. He sat dutifully at his desk, scribbling away at a piece of parchment, back ramrod straight and feet flat against the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Warrington was busy plastering his portion of the wall with quidditch posters and released lovesick sighs whenever he glanced in the direction of the Holyhead Harpies. Fred swallowed his urge to gag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandwiched between Montague and Warrington was Pucey. Pucey was transferring his trunk’s possessions to his desks. He lined his textbooks by size. Not that there was much of a purpose for that; textbooks of a set tended to be the same size. Arranging by topic would be practical, though color would be interesting…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was an idea worth investigating. Fred stored it away in the back of his brain to discuss with George at a later time, when they weren’t surrounded by potential enemies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling hurt by someone he had just met was silly, so Fred compressed the white heat of anger in his chest into resentment. Weasleys held grudges; it was a product of blood, from mother to son and father to daughter and mother to daughter and father to son. Grudges were why they had not reconciled with the Malfoys or returned the silver cutlery Fred and George stole from Aunt Muriel when they were little. Grudges prevented the Lovegoods from spending Yule with them after Luna’s mother died. Grudges rotted bonds and mitigated growth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Weasleys were full of grudges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred sighed loudly, earning scowls from his roommates. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a bid to exorcise his mounting frustration, he hopped out of bed and began unpacking — George’s stuff included because they shared everything. George took over when he came out of the shower. Fred took that as his cue to clean himself up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The showers and toilets were communal, but Fred could hardly be annoyed — not when he could spend as much time as he wanted with unlimited hot water. The heat wrung the stress out of his body; he floated to the sink to brush his teeth and didn’t even wrinkle his nose at the burn of minty toothpaste.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George was finished unpacking by the time he came out. They chatted for a while and tested the mattress by bouncing on it, knocking down Warrington’s poster in the process. They darted to the commons room to escape Warrington’s ire. Selwyn caught them trying to remove the snake above the fireplace and shot stinging hexes until they fled back to their dorm room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Avery ordered them all to go to bed and extinguished the lights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred tried to sleep, but his head swam and leg shook and fingers tingled. He rolled and rolled, adjusted his pillow, then rolled again. He tried shoving his head beneath the pillow, tried hugging the pillow, and even tried putting it between his legs. Blanket on, blanket off — hand hanging off the side, hand tucked to his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the moon reached its peak, Fred crept out of his bed to slip beneath the covers that hosted George. George shifted, tangling their limbs and pressing their chests together hard enough for their heartbeats to mix. Cocooned by darkness and his brother, Fred’s body fell lax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Itching powder tomorrow?” He asked, mingling their breaths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George’s lips twitched. “Thought you’d never ask.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>8.12.20</p>
<p>Boy, do I love incest. This was a practice in transitions. I usually use a line break to move from one scene to another, but since this was only a oneshot it didn't feel fitting. Future installments to this series will be Fred/Hermione/George (with twincest ofc)</p>
<p>Slytherin Weasley Twins would be very interesting to explore! They'd parallel Sirius by being sorted to the "wrong" house, except they wouldn't be disowned since the Weasleys aren't total dicks. It'd be a little awkward at first, because everyone in the family expected Gryffindor, but it'd cool down eventually. Ron was the most vocal in his anti-Slytherin agenda, but he'll either learn to keep his trap shut around the twins or realize the error of his ways. </p>
<p>ALSO, FRED AND GEORGE NEARLY KILLED GRAHAM MONTAGUE BY SHOVING HIM INTO THE VANISHING CABINET??? these boys are crazy ok, absolute apeshit. granted, they probably thought it was a regular cabinet, BUT EVEN THEN. LOCKING SOMEONE IN A CABINET????? W/O FOOD OR WATER???? montague was left in there overnight too since he apparated the next day. </p>
<p>these boys are DANGEROUS. imagining it with that slytherin twist makes me DROOL.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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